Wilson's Thirty
by RochelleRene
Summary: I can't stay away... Neither can House.
1. Chapter 1

So, I'm an addict. I can't stop. I will be seventy, writing fics, and explaining to my grandchildren who the hell Huddy is. To hell with it. It's safer than crack.

I am not a fan of the finale, but _**C'est la vie. **_I did my best, here, to remedy it. The whole thing is a little more soap opera than I usually like for Huddy, but they didn't leave us much choice. Many thanks to my dedicated and dominating muse oc7ober who never lets me rest. I'd also like to thank my 15-month-old son – Oscar - for his cuteness. You'll find out why.

And I can't publish again without thanking you all for the love. Your kind words when I thought I needed to be "done" really helped me see that this is an awesome community rooting for the same delusion, and you kindly feel like I help you with that. Thank you so much for your appreciation of my stories.

[H] [H] [H]

Wilson and House did the mid-life/end-of-life crisis thing for about nine weeks, then reality set in. Funny how struggling to breathe sucks, even when riding a motorcycle.

"I want to go home, House."

House nodded. He was at his beck and call and honestly had no idea how _he'd_ want to live his last five months. So for once, Wilson was in charge. They turned around.

The following months were, of course, ugly. They lived at Wilson's apartment for a while, but Wilson ended up dying at his parents'. In the end, it seems, we all want the women – our mothers, lovers, best friends. Women know better how to take care, comfort, and reassure. And ironically, women know better how to let us go.

House watched Wilson die holding his mom's hand. During two weeks of monotonous days punctuated by respiratory distress - Wilson sitting up coughing, gasping, struggling to get air - House would silently root for him, willing him to fill his lungs. And when he finally did, they would go back to waiting for the big one.

It was his mother who finally said what House never could, "Let go, Jimmy." And he looked at her and did. And she smiled at him and held him until he couldn't see or feel her anymore. Then she sobbed on the body of her dead son.

House stared at the floor. It wasn't the death that made him uncomfortable. It was the love. How do you talk about that kind of love?

He got some time alone with him, but didn't know what to do. All he saw was a body, flesh. He looked at him for long enough to make Wilson's parents think he had said some sort of goodbye, then got up to leave. His father stopped him and gave him a wrapped box. "James wanted me to give this to you, when the time came" he said. House took it, nodding. They shook hands silently, both understanding there was nothing left to say.

House drove back to Wilson's apartment and sat on the couch. There was an envelope taped to the top, so he started there.

_House,_

_First of all, you're wrong. About the "nothing." I'm having a wonderful conversation with Henry Gray right now and smoking a Cuban while Audrey Hepburn gives me a massage… There is a heaven and I sure as hell don't see you fitting in._

_Secondly, thank you. For all of it, good and bad._

_Finally, you always said almost dying changes nothing, but dying changes everything. Well, House, the dying's over. _

_I'm dead. Change everything._

_I want thirty more years. I want to work more, play more, fall in love again, maybe make a little person. And I can't, clearly; my life is over. But I want more of it. So I'm following your example and dumping all my crap on my best friend. You have my thirty years. I'm asking you to do the unthinkable, and change. _

_I know you have pain - of all kinds - but don't let it slowly steal your years. You think if you get up and go to work each day, you've beaten the pain. But if you get up and regret doing so every second, the pain has beaten you. _

_And if you blame it for everything, it has beaten you. _

_And if you don't love again, it has beaten you._

_I want you to live my thirty, House, and don't fuck it up so much. That's all I'm asking. Just live a life that makes you feel like I do right now – like you want more of it._

_Wilson_

_Ps: I'm leaving you a gift. I'm not saying these things will fix your life (quite the opposite) but they might help you build a bridge from broken to… less broken… while I'm away. (I know, I'm an enabler.) Please note, these things run out. You can't make them all you have._

House opened the box. It contained cash - $100,000 – and three freezer bags of Vicodin.

The thing about death is, if it's far away or up close, it can't really influence your life. It's either too abstract or it's making you shit yourself. But House watched his best friend die, far too early. Like it or not, that changes you. House fell asleep that night thinking about Wilson's words.

He woke up the next day and began the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

There were a few days of making plans. House knew what he wanted. He'd always known, but a lot of dominoes needed to fall for him to get it.

Two weeks later he put on sunglasses and a baseball hat and slunk into PPTH to see Foreman… A week after that he puked into a trash can outside the police station before turning himself in… A month after that he stared obediently into a court room and half-listened to Foreman verify his twisted story, asking for leniency… Eight months after that he walked out of prison a free man… He gave himself a week off, but after seven days he swallowed four Vicodin before walking up the steps to Mayfield…

[H] [H] [H]

"You won't see patients," Dr. Nolan pointed out after House told him about the research position Foreman had offered him when he came to visit, since he'd never get his license back.

"I hate patients," House countered.

"But you like puzzles."

"There are bigger puzzles. Research is more my style – reclusive, analytical, haughty."

Nolan nodded. "Why do you think you didn't do it sooner?"

House gave him a knowing look. "Life just didn't go that way," he deflected, refusing to play his head-shrinking game.

Nolan nodded again. "So it just happened that you spent a decade working somewhere you didn't really want to be."

"I wanted to be there."

"I know," Nolan say, smiling slyly.

"Oh, you," House waved his finger at him sarcastically. "Get outta my head, Doctor."

"What do you really want, House?" he asked.

"I want Wilson's thirty," he answered. "I want to reach the end of my life and want more of it."

"Why do you think Wilson cared about dying and you don't?" Nolan asked. House laughed quietly. "What's funny?"

"The thing about clichés," he explained, "Is they exist because we're cliché. We all end up wanting the same fucking thing."

"What do you want?" he asked again.

House met his eyes and gave him a hard stare. "Don't make me say it, Nolan."

He chuckled. "It's good practice. You're never gonna get it if you don't learn to say it."

"I will. When it matters."

"I hope so, House."

[H] [H] [H]

…Ninety-seven days later, he walked out, a free man with a singular purpose.


	3. Chapter 3

Cuddy was in bed reading when she heard the knock on the door. It was close to midnight. As she wrapped a sweater around her and padded cautiously to the peephole, she couldn't help but think of him. Midnight front door rendezvous had been his specialty. So when she peered through to see a hunched tall figure, cane in hand and head bent to reveal a small bald spot, she had the sense she was dreaming. Her breathing stopped short and, trite as it was, she couldn't think of anything to do but pinch herself. As her mind whirled she could only conclude that this was some kind of sick joke. Someone messing with her… She reached into her purse on the small table by the door and found her pepper spray. She unchained the door and slowly opened it, body tense and face twisted into a suspicious glare.

He looked up at her, taking her in for the first time. She was exactly the same – beautiful even at this hour, even in this state.

He saw the confusion on her face, then the pepper spray in her hand. He was so foolish. Mentally preparing for this moment he had been so preoccupied with various scenarios of her emotional reaction to being romantically involved with him again, he'd totally ignored the psychological transition he was asking her to make in a single moment.

He'd forgotten he was dead.

"Now, Cuddy…" he began, trying to calm her down.

She saw his eyes, heard his voice. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't understand this. She felt herself start shaking. She pressed her free hand against the doorframe to steady herself.

"What…" was all she could croak out. She thought she might pass out.

"Cuddy, listen," he said. He stepped forward cautiously, seeing her unsteadiness but still nervous about getting sprayed. "I know this is crazy. I… I really don't know what to say except… I'm not dead. And I wanted to see you."

Cuddy shook her head and knit her brows. This was fucking nuts.

"You…" she hissed. She dropped the pepper spray and pointed a finger at him. "You are…" Her knees finally buckled and she sunk down on the stoop.

House exhaled with relief at her disarmament. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm an idiot. I thought… This seemed more romantic in my head."

She looked up at him with an inscrutable expression. She had at least a dozen emotions layered on her face. "Romantic?"

"Cuddy, just…"

"You're insane!" she shouted. She saw a curtain move across the street. Curious neighbors. "House…" - God, she was saying his name again - "…What the hell is going on?"

"Um, well, it's a long story." He sat next to her on the step. She stared at him like he was an alien. "We gotta go back to… well, to when you hit my car with your house." He looked over at her with a tentative smirk, then down at his shoes. "I'm assuming you don't love going back there."

Cuddy bit her lip, tried to regulate her breathing.

"So the short version is, I went to prison, made parole, went back to work, Wilson had five months to live and I was about to have to finish my six month sentence." He let this sink in. "So naturally the obvious thing to do was…" he shrugged.

"You faked your death," she finished for him. He nodded slowly, still staring at his shoes. She had this way of making him realize how ridiculous he was sometimes. "You faked… your death." She was trying to get her head around this. Nothing so shocking had ever occurred in her life – a life filled with House.

"It was a sort-of spontaneous decision," he explained. "I had gotten myself into a situation and it… fit."

"An injecting heroine in an abandoned house kind of situation."

"Yeah."

Cuddy pursed her lips. He couldn't tell if she was angry or relieved.

"And then what? You just… hid out with Wilson?"

He nodded, waited. He knew he needed to give her little pieces, time to process.

"So where have you been for the last year?" she asked.

"Prison. Then rehab," he answered. "In that order."

She looked at him now, calmer. He looked… good… healthy. "A reverse mid-life crisis, huh?"

He grinned. "Wilson. He pulled a Randy Pausch on me."

She blinked at him. "Why are you here?"

House swallowed. "To ask you if you're happy."

"If I'm happy…" she murmured, mind still whirring. "At this precise moment, I'm not sure that's the word I would use."

"I'm not happy, Cuddy," he confessed. "And I have this theory that maybe we can only be happy with each other."

She looked at him and shook her head with disbelief. "So you show up here, like this… and want, what, a relationship with me?"

"A date," he corrected. "A date with you." He raised his eyebrows.

Cuddy was silent. Then, "This is insane."

He said nothing.

"This makes no sense!"

Silence.

"This is crazy!"

"You're just saying the same thing in different ways," he informed her. She gave him the iciest glare. "Look, just stop thinking so much," he pleaded. "I'm about to leave and let you go to sleep… Do you want that to be the end of it or do you want to see me again?" He nudged her knee with his own.

"You were supposed to be dead, House. That changes everything."

"That's the idea." He reached out and took one of her hands. "Will you see me again?" His blue eyes were earnest, hopeful. His hand on hers still sent a surge through her body. It scared her.

"Okay…?" It was a statement and a question. He decided to quit while he was ahead.

"Okay." He squeezed her hand. She stared at him and he stared back.

"I'm not having sex with you, House." It wasn't meant to be funny – she was still in shock - but he laughed.

"Though this would be the most remarkable booty call ever," he teased, "That's not what I'm asking for."

She sighed again. "Okay. Alright."

House gave a highly satisfied nod. "Tomorrow?"

Cuddy was distracted. "Yeah, okay. Um, after the… After Rachel's in bed. Eight-thirty?"

House stood. "If you said no, I was gonna drive my bike into your front door." Cuddy glared at him again. "Too soon?"

"Way."

He nodded and she watched him walk to his motorcycle. "One condition," she called out. House looked up the walk at her. "No blue shirt."

He smiled, remembering. "You'll wear a burka then, right?"

She smiled back.

He drove off and she returned to bed in a daze, to the easily resurrected state of staring into the dark thinking about him. It was, strangely, comforting. His theory was right. No matter what ever happened, he made her happy.


	4. Chapter 4

Cuddy was putting on her makeup. She was telling herself this was a bizarre happening, with no instructions or advice to go with it. She'd just have to feel it out as she went.

She was willing herself not to be excited. But she heard the doorbell and a surge of heat went through her. She scolded herself. But her pulse quickened nonetheless.

She checked on the sitter, then opened the door. The sonofabitch was standing there in a baby blue button-down over a navy tee. She looked at his torso and narrowed her eyes at him. He looked her up and down – at a dress that wove in and out with each curve - and narrowed his eyes right back. They smirked and walked to his car without a word.

[H] [H] [H]

Several dates followed and their rhythm returned with surprising ease…

[H] [H] [H]

He cracked her up, telling her about how prison put clinic duty to shame.

"Once they find out you're a doctor," he said, "It's all over. _You're a doctor right? My homemade tattoo looks infected._ Or_ Uh, House, I was anally raping this dude and now I got this rash._ Or, my personal favorite, _My nose is running and I'm coughing all night… What the fuck's a rhinovirus?"_

"That's your punishment," she told him, tears running down her cheeks. "Two years of endless clinic duty."

[H] [H] [H]

"Where are you living?" Cuddy asked.

"Same place," House answered through a mouthful of salad.

"Same apartment?" She was incredulous. "Didn't someone move in there?"

"Yeah, but…" he trailed off. She gave him a look that said this was not an acceptable answer. "They were gullible… Believed in the supernatural… I'm a good storyteller."

"You fooled them into thinking it was haunted."

"Mmm, sort of. Not, like spirits. Poltergeists." He grinned at her. "How do you think I hurt my leg?"

Cuddy couldn't help laughing a little. "You are something else. All to avoid change."

"I like what I like," he said, locking eyes with her.

[H] [H] [H]

He asked about Rachel. "She's brilliant," Cuddy gushed. "She's reading short chapter books even though she's only in first grade. And she's really artistic and into science as well, so she's forever making these models – dioramas, you know? Mountains, forests. She built a really decent igloo out of sugar cubes."

There was a pause.

"What, uh," he began, his voice catching. "What's she know…"

"She knows all of it, House."

He didn't know what he felt about that.

"I didn't want her to find out I'd lied to her" Cuddy explained. "Plus, you were more effective than any after school special. She explains the evils of drugs to anyone who listens."

"Does she know I'm… alive?" he laughed a little at the ludicrous question. Cuddy nodded. "I'm surprised you told her."

She shrugged. "She's too smart. She catches me in any aberration. It's like living with you," she teased.

"How'd you explain it?" he asked.

"That, my friend, will be up to you."

[H] [H] [H]

"So what are you researching now?"

House cleared his throat dramatically and pronounced with flair, "_The correlations between biological identity characteristics and manifestations of paraneoplastic syndrome_."

"That's a mouthful," Cuddy assessed.

"Yeah. I prefer the pithier title: _It's Not Lupus_."

She laughed. "So it's good? I mean, you like it?"

"It's a lot like it was. I have research assistants who are young and stupid but think they're smart. They do all the boring stuff. I look at constellations of symptoms and try to find patterns, but actually have some statistical power to back me up. And no one expects me to actually save their lives, so there are a lot less Cameron-esque 'We need to tell them – slash – ask them – slash - help them – discussions."

"Sounds good. Surprised you didn't do it sooner."

He gave her a knowing smile. "Are you?" She blinked and looked away, shy suddenly. "I liked working close to Wilson," he said, to ease the tension. "What can I say? I'm a hopeless bromantic." He winked at her.

[H] [H] [H]

They'd talk for hours and then he'd finally he take her home. One night at her door, he reached up and cupped her face. He ran his thumb along her chin and Cuddy told herself to tell him to stop it, but she didn't.

"Thank you," he said quietly. She swallowed hard and nodded. "Tomorrow?" he asked, grinning.

She found her voice only to offer a feeble, "Sure."

He dropped his hand and left. She walked into her house and leaned against the closed door for three full minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

She'd waited until the tenth date (in as many days) to tell him.

"There's something I need to tell you, House."

He took a sip of his scotch and sat back in his chair. "Okay, ready."

She hesitated. He waited.

"I adopted another child, House," she told him.

_Woah_. Not bad, just woah. He hadn't even thought of that. "Wow," he answered. "When?"

"About a year and a half ago."

He studied her. "Are you fucking with me?" he asked.

"Yes, House. I figured what this relationship needed was more drama and surprise."

He nodded, letting it sink in. Really, what was the big deal? One kid, two kids. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy."

"Huh." That surprised him for some reason.

"What's his name?"

"You want dessert?" she asked abruptly, reaching for the small dessert menu perched on the table.

"Cuddy?" he prodded.

Cuddy hid her face in her hands.

"Cuddy, what's the deal?"

She met his eyes for a beat. "Gregory…"

"Yeeaaah?" _Gregory_? Was he in trouble? She never called him that.

"His name is Gregory…" House blinked. "…House…" He swallowed. "Cuddy." She cleared her throat.

He was speechless.

"You…" She swallowed hard, fiddled with her napkin. "You were dead. I thought we needed a Gregory House in the world."

He truly had never felt so loved in his whole life. Or so freaked out. He was overwhelmed.

"Jesus, Cuddy. Thank you."

"It wasn't for you," she corrected him. "It was for me. I… needed a Gregory House in my world."

[H] [H] [H]

That night Cuddy invited House in. They entered and Cuddy chatted with the babysitter, who had essentially been paid to watch television as the children slept.

"Greggy cried out once, around eleven, but I think he was just dreaming or something. Went back to sleep."

House overheard her... He was real. He slept, and cried, and dreamt. And his name was Greg.

House was snapped out of his reverie by the babysitter squeezing past him in the foyer. She was a cute college student. She looked up at him as she slipped her coat on. "So you're the reason I'm making 25 dollars an hour to watch TV every night." She smiled flirtatiously.

He smirked back, but was distracted. "I hope I'm worth it."

[H] [H] [H]

They had drinks and talked still more. Then the awkward time came when each wondered what the other wanted. Cuddy collected dishes and walked to the kitchen. He followed her, pausing in the doorway to assess his odds.

She stood at the sink and turned on the water, waiting for it to get warm. He watched her. She scratched her calf with a bare toe. He saw a small bruise by her ankle. It reminded him she was human. She could be hurt. His fatal flaw the first time, he realized, was allowing his pain to swallow all of hers. A guy comes in with a gunshot wound; doesn't make your headache go away.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to heal her.

"You have a bruise on your ankle," he commented. "How'd that happen?"

Cuddy held her leg out and looked down briefly. "One of many," she chuckled. "Who knows? Life bruises."

He saw her reflection in the dark window, her beautiful face with her smile slowly fading as she picked up a dish. Her eyes looked into the sink and she bit her lip, nervous.

House stepped toward her slowly. He was so quiet, she wasn't sure of it until she looked into the window and saw him almost behind her. Their eyes met in the glass. He knit his brows, suddenly moved in ways he couldn't explain. Cuddy sucked her lips in a little, dropped the dish with a small clatter. The small space between them was electric, heavy, filled with decades of desire and confusion.

He took the final step and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. She leaned back against him. The feeling of his body against her again scared and exhilarated her. He bent, curling his face into the curve of her neck. "I'm so sorry."

Cuddy turned her face to his. He met her there and their lips brushed. "I don't know what this is," she whispered.

"It's us."

They kissed. Finally. Their millionth first kiss.

He nudged her chin back with his nose and began kissing slowly down her neck.

House loosened his arms so he could move his hands over her body. He circled her waist and slid up over her ribs. Cuddy sighed. He pressed his hands against her stomach and slid down the front of her. Her breath caught. He bent slightly and ran his hands along her thighs, the fabric of her dress slipping between their skins. He moved under the silk, between her legs, sliding his hand back up toward her heat. Cuddy's knees buckled and she grabbed the counter in front of her.

"Let me in again, Cuddy," he breathed in her ear. "Please."

She exhaled all her psychological and sexual tension. "You never got out, you stubborn ass."

He felt her lean back against him, giving over to it. He kissed and nipped at her shoulder. He slid her panties aside with his hand and touched her. She pushed into his touch, already starting to writhe slowly against him. He slid inside of her and found her clit simultaneously and Cuddy let out a sound that got him so aroused he couldn't fight the impulse to push forward against her body, pinning her to the counter. He roamed her body with one hand and concentrated on slowly, slowly, getting her to climax with his other. He watched her face in the window reflection. He'd take her close then ease back. Not the usual teasing – the motivation was different. He knew that eventually she would come and then there would be that moment when she decided whether it was right or wrong. He was scared of the latter, of losing her to pride or shame or confusion. But here, against her body, his fingers inside of her making her beg him for release, in this moment she was his.

He finally couldn't resist anymore and took her over the edge. He held her weight as she rubbed her body against him, thrusting against his palm, chasing her orgasm. He wanted her so badly it hurt, deep in his body. He watched her peak with a cry that stopped in her throat as she laid her head back against his chest. He watched it recede and he released his pressure, but he couldn't bear to let go, to move his hand. He listened to her breathing regulate, felt her weight return to her own two feet.

He waited.

"Will you stay?" she asked. He fought the urge to whoop.

"Show me where the bedroom is," he murmured in her ear. "I don't wanna wake anyone in this orphanage you're running here."

Cuddy laughed and clasped his hand under her dress. She sighed as he removed it and started to lead him to her bedroom. He pulled back on her hand and she faced him. He held her face and started kissing her with a fervor unmatched by any movie, any myth or legend, any kiss they had ever shared. They kissed without thoughts. They bounced off tables and walls, into her bedroom and onto the bed. He tore her dress off. That's the only word for it. He couldn't get it off fast enough. Cuddy unbuttoned his shirt as he slid the fabric off her body. She wanted him naked against her. She wanted the still-familiar sensations of his beard on her belly, his lips on her breasts, his hands skating along the length of her. She wanted the smell of his shampoo, the taste of his skin.

She was fumbling with his belt but he was ignoring her lead, obsessed with devouring her body. He kissed up the inside of one thigh, pressing the other to the bed with his hand. He licked suggestively along her leg joint as he made his way to her stomach, peppering it with kisses. He found her breasts and closed his mouth around them each in turn. Cuddy couldn't string a thought together anymore. She just held his head in her hands and rolled and arched to meet his every move. She wrapped her legs around him and bucked up against him.

"I need you," she whimpered.

"You have no idea," he said against her neck as he crawled up her body. He pushed down against her and she felt him through his pants. He sucked her bottom lip gently. She was trying to open his belt but felt so confused by the simple mechanism.

"I feel like I'm gonna faint," she gasped.

"It's okay, I'm a doctor," he growled, tugging on her hair as she finally got his pants open.

"Not really."

"Shut up. We're role playing."

He pushed inside her and Cuddy truly saw stars. She was so hot for him there wasn't enough blood to properly run her whole body. She cried his name and he slid against her with deliberate, controlled movements. She was lifting her pelvis to meet him, to speed the rhythm, but he was nothing if not a hedonist. He held her hips steady and relished the feeling of slowly entering her, and pulling out only for the delight of entering her again. He listened to her moaning, felt her nails lightly scratching down his triceps. "Don't… stop… ever…" she cried. She was coming again beneath him, arching up so that her breasts could not help but be kissed. The waves of her climax continued as he thrust inside her with abandon. She saw him break his kiss with her body and pull his head back. His eyes clenched and he groaned his release with such force it pushed Cuddy's along for a few more pulses.

He collapsed on her and she kissed his shoulder, licking the salt from his skin. Their moans turned to hums, turned to sighs, turned to breaths. House rolled and brought her with him. She lay along his side, cradling his head in her arm and sprawling a leg across his belly.

"I won't, you know," he croaked at the ceiling, holding her against him.

"What?" she asked.

"Stop. Ever."


	6. Chapter 6

If she'd been grinning at work all week, the next day she was positively beaming. They had made love all night, even half asleep. They would finish and fall asleep with their bodies pressed together, and within an hour one of them would begin pushing against the other, rousing each other enough to explore their mouths again, to move slowly against each other until they were writhing and crying out names again. At 6am she'd reluctantly realized he had to go, before the kids got up. He gathered his clothes and lay beside her again to kiss her goodbye.

"Come for dinner tonight," she told him. "You can see them."

House nodded. "I will." He stared into her eyes, a grin on his lips.

"I have to make you go," she whined.

House nodded. "I know." He bent and kissed her lightly.

The kiss turned into more and she pulled his pants down one more time, biting his shoulder to keep herself quiet as she came beneath him in the dawn light.

Now she sat at her desk and smiled to herself as she remembered him limping to the bedroom door, his cane forgotten somewhere along the way. He'd paused at the threshold, staring out into the hall. He cleared his throat. "Just so we're clear… I love you." And he left.

[H] [H] [H]

House called her later in the day. "How are you?" she asked, trying to hide the smile in her voice.

"Old," he replied. "My body is not used to this."

She laughed. "We can't all be bendy, grandpa."

"Mmm. Bendy." She almost heard him lick his lips.

"So are you just calling to post-coitally glow?"

"No, no, actually. I'm calling to tell you I'm bringing dessert tonight… Literally, not metaphorically. Well, both, I guess."

"Okay," Cuddy replied, suspicious.

"It might get messy."

"Literally or metaphorically?"

"Hmmm. Both, now that you mention it."

"Okay. I'll limber up."

She heard him sigh and hang up.

[H] [H] [H]

House walked up Cuddy's walk hauling a packed grocery bag of stuff. He paused at the door and took a breath – this was it. Meeting kids. Family dinner. Complex reality. He rang the bell and a radiant Cuddy answered, smiling widely, and ushered him in. "For later," he said, setting the bag down in the kitchen. She started to look in and he snapped the bag shut. "No peeking."

He sensed it before he saw her. Little eyes were on him from the kitchen doorway.

"Hi, Rach," Cuddy said, stepping back a little to let them handle it.

"Hi," she answered, looking up at House.

"Hey," he said. He swallowed. "Uh, you remember me?"

Rachel nodded. "Do you remember me?" He laughed. It was almost like a sarcastic response to the strange question.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

There was a pause.

"Wanna see my igloo diorama?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, but then in toddled a tiny man. Greg was big-eyed, smiley and just walking. He looked up at House and waved a chubby hand.

"Well… hey."

"Dees!" he replied pointing at the ceiling.

Rachel laughed. "He says _dees_ for everything." She turned to Greg. "Light. It's a light."

"Dees," he repeated, smiling at his sister. Suddenly he lunged forward and toddled up to House's leg and patted it .

"He's very friendly and cheerful" Cuddy commented, smirking. "Ironic, no?"

House was a little overwhelmed, truth be told. Not in a bad way. Just… at sea.

Luckily kids never know when things are awkward. "Come on," Rachel said. "Come look at my igloo." Greg was still leaning on his leg, though. House bent to detach him, but Greg took his hand like they were going someplace. So he ended up slowly following Rachel, toting the toddler by the tiny hand.

Rachel led them to the family room. Cuddy wasn't kidding. There were a dozen or so shoeboxes with detailed scenes of different landscapes. She showed him the one she was currently working on. She sat at a tiny kid-sized table and demonstrated how to make a tree out of tissue paper and pipe cleaners. Greg started whining for a pipe cleaner. "Dees. Dees!"

House looked at him, then to Rachel. "Can he have this?"

Rachel was engrossed in her work and said distractedly, "Yeah, as long as he can't swallow it he can have it."

_Second child guidelines_, House thought, chuckling to himself. He handed Greg a pipe cleaner and the boy held it up high and squealed "DEES!" with delight.

"Want to make one?" Rachel asked him.

"Okay." He started twisting the pipe cleaner and poking it through the tissue the way she demonstrated. Then he realized that crumpling the little squares of tissue would make it more tree-like. He showed Rachel who was highly pleased.

She looked at him very seriously and said "That was a very good idea, House."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Thank you, Rachel."

They made trees while Greg toddled around asking for the names of different things. Cuddy was eavesdropping from the hallway occasionally, between cooking steps. She heard Rachel ask him, "You ate drugs?"

House cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"That made you do crazy stuff?"

"Yeah… I mean… It's my fault I did crazy stuff, but, yeah, drugs didn't help."

Silence. Tree-making.

"But you don't eat drugs anymore?"

It was his turn to look very seriously at her. "No."

"Okay."

They worked a while longer. "Look at this huge tree!" she announced.

If only it were always so easy.

[H] [H] [H]

They ate a dinner that is eaten with two small children. Cuddy hardly sat down between requests to refill juice glasses, to retrieve paper towels for a spill, or to wash a dropped fork. They barely spoke to each other because Rachel needed to give a play-by-play of her day and Greg needed the same objects named again and again. Cuddy grinned and rolled her eyes at him at one point, trying to gauge if he was annoyed, but he just grinned back. If he was irritated, he was doing a good job not letting on. She was self-conscious, but she also knew she had no choice. This was her life. Post-bedtime life could only be their reality for so long.

After dinner House dumped out his grocery bag. He told Rachel they were going to build and edible volcano. He had brought various sized angel food cakes, frosting, cookies, and tons of other sugar-laden items. They stacked the cakes, frosted them, crumbled Oreos to make dirt and ash, and created a lumpy, but impressive mountain. Then House dumped a few envelopes of "Pop Rocks" in the center hole. He cracked open a can of Coke and let Rachel do the honors. She poured some in and the center of the volcano foamed and oozed out with an explosive gush. Rachel was laughing and clapping hysterically. The whole thing turned into a soggy, highly-unappealing mess, but she insisted that everyone have a "scoop." Cuddy took one bite and feigned fullness, but House enthusiastically ate the messy concoction with Rachel, who was reminiscing about it already and plotting how to make an even bigger one next time.

Cuddy met House's eyes. "Clever," she said.

He shrugged. "Fiz and sugar. Child's play"

Greg came up to House and laid his head on his knee. House touched his fuzzy head gently.

"He's tired," Cuddy said, rising to herd the kids for bedtime routines. "I just need a half hour or so," she said, apologetically.

He felt sad that she said it apologetically. "It's fine," he said. "No problem."

He did an awkward dance of standing around or moving with this little family as they went through a well-know set of steps. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked at one point when he was tired of feeling like a fourth wheel.

"Um…" Cuddy thought aloud. "You wanna give Greg a bottle?" He nodded, like, _Yeah, I give kids bottle all the time_. She fixed a bottle and handed it to him, gesturing for him to sit anywhere. The pajama-clad tot followed him with outstretched arms, reaching for the bottle. "Deeeees!" House picked him up and sat, cradling him a little, but he was big so his legs hung off his lap. Greg grabbed House's hand and guided the bottle to his mouth. "Like this?" he asked Cuddy. She was smiling ear to ear and nodded. Then she went to finish up with Rachel.

House looked down and met Greg's eyes. The toddler stared at him intently while his eyelids grew droopier. He reached one hand up and rubbed House's scruffy chin with a sleepy rhythm while he drank. House eventually relaxed and sank into the chair a little more.

Cuddy and Rachel popped back in. "Night, House," Rachel said with a smile.

"Night, Rach," he answered. She skipped off to her room. Before following her, Cuddy took in the scene before her. "Nice, isn't it?" she asked him. He nodded, glancing up at her. "Make's the poop and sleeplessness worth it somehow," she told him. Then she went to tuck Rachel in.

Greg shoved the drained bottle away, but kept playing with House's chin. "Dees," he murmured sleepily.

"It's a beard," House told him. "A chick magnet." Greg laughed like he knew what he was saying.

Cuddy returned and took him off to brush his teeth and put him in bed. When she re-emerged, House was sitting in the same spot. "Thanks," she said, trying to sound casual.

"Sure," he said, trying to sound casual too.

"They're cool little people," she assessed.

He nodded. His forehead furrowed a little.

"What?" she asked.

"I gotta think of a new nickname for my penis. Little Greg doesn't work anymore."

Cuddy laughed out loud. "You're so deep, House." She sidled over to him and offered a sexy smile. "So, uh, how about that metaphorical dessert?"

House stood up quickly. "I'll get the Pop Rocks."

[H] [H] [H]

The next morning Cuddy loaded Rachel in her carseat for school when the nanny came for Greg. House stood with them in the garage . He waved bye to Rachel and pecked Cuddy. He got on his motorcycle squinting at her across the driveway in the bright morning light.

Cuddy closed the car door and looked at him. "Is it too much?" she asked abruptly. "This is a lot. I understand if you wanna bail… Just do it sooner rather than later so it hurts less," she blurted out, laughing a little. But she wasn't joking.

House smiled at her. He shook his head. "I came back from the dead for you." He raised his helmet to the top of his head. "I'm not bailing." He pulled his helmet down and stared at her through the visor as she smiled at him. He waved a little. She waved back. He started the bike and drove off.


	7. Chapter 7

Her sister had been calling and Cuddy finally felt obliged to answer. She'd been having brief conversations with her, trying avoiding a confession of what was going on. She knew what Julia's reaction would be.

"Wait a minute…" The phone line hissed its disbelieving silence. Much as House had, Cuddy had forgotten how much of this story required processing time.

"Lisa, is this a joke?" Cuddy was silent. "You have got to be kidding me. And you're, what, like with him now?"

"What is this high school?" Cuddy said defensively. "Yeah. Yes. I'm _with_ him."

Silence.

"Lis, I… I'm at a loss. I have no idea what to say to this," Julia said carefully. Cuddy sighed. "How do you think this is going to go? You think this is some warped happily ever after?"

Cuddy felt a little overwhelmed all of a sudden. "It's going fine. Great, even."

"This is not love, Lisa! This is obsession. Dysfunction. Co-dependency. No matter what he does, he always gets you back."

Cuddy was hearing herself – her own brain's arguments – thrown back at her. She decided to swim upstream. "So then what's love, Julia? Marrying your husband and staying married though you're indifferent to him now?"

"Don't you dare attack my marriage, Lisa."

"Don't attack me! You stood there and took the _for better or worse _vows. Isn't that love? Unconditional. Unending. Your accusations toward him only prove it to me. He's a felon. He's an addict. He's crazy. And I can never stop loving him."

There was silence.

"So you're going to what, take him to parties with you? Re-introduce him to friends who think he's dead? People are going to think you've lost your mind!"

Cuddy hadn't really gotten that far in her head. When it was her and him, alone, it was perfect. She'd forgotten just how bizarre this must look to people who didn't understand… well, didn't understand _them_.

"I'll just have to hope people can be as open-minded and understanding as my sister," Cuddy snarked.

Julia snorted. "Yeah, I'm too judgmental. That's what this is."

"Julia, he's a recovering drug addict. Addicts have pasts."

"Will you listen to yourself?" Julia was losing it. "Addicts have DUIs. They lose their jobs, punch walls, rob their grandparents even. They don't drive cars into homes. That's a psychopath."

"You know him," Cuddy replied calmly. "He just takes everything to an eleven."

Julia was quiet again. Then, "You just remember that, Lisa, when he takes his relapse to an eleven."

Cuddy considered that. "He didn't, Jules. He took one pill. I broke his heart and that's what pushed him over the edge."

"Oh is that how he's retold the story for you? It's your fault now?"

"No, no," Cuddy was feeling cornered. Everything was getting twisted. "He – "

"Lisa," Julia interrupted. "I let you try this years ago and tried to be supportive. I even bit my tongue when you named your son after the man, for God's sake. But that's because I thought he was dead and buried, in the fucking dirt where he couldn't hurt you anymore."

Cuddy's face twisted up at the mere thought of it again.

"But I am not going to sit back and watch this again. I am not supporting you in this decision," she declared. "Call me when he destroys himself again. Hopefully he doesn't take you or your children down with him."

Cuddy swallowed hard, trying to get her bearings. "He won't."

"I hope not."

"He won't."

[H] [H] [H]

House and Cuddy were on on the couch watching a movie. She was nested comfortably between his legs, head on his chest. His hand lay across her stomach possessively. Everything was lovely and Cuddy was trying to let go of her conversation with Julia, but it kept distracting her. The movie ended and they were lying there cozily, watching the credits.

"What if you relapse?" she asked suddenly.

He looked down at her. "I won't."

She swallowed. "What if you do?" she asked again. House reached for the remote and switched the television off. "We'll deal with it," he said quietly. "But I won't."

Cuddy shifted around so she was facing him, sitting cross-legged on the couch. "Something might happen. You'll be in a lot of pain. Or stressed. Or scared." The reference to the last time hung unspoken in the air.

House let out a heavy sigh. "I know what's at stake now," he answered.

"Do you?" she asked, thinking of her sister's words. She stood up, gathering their popcorn bowl and glasses, an excuse to just get away from him for a minute. "I always go back to you, so do you really think you could lose me?" She walked to the kitchen. He laughed sarcastically. "Every second," he called after her. "You think I'm complacent about this?"

She ignored him. She really didn't know what he thought about them. She knew he wanted to be with her, but did he feel the same insecurities? Was this a forever thing or a right now thing? What did he want for his life?

She turned from the sink and he was in the doorway looking at her like he was going to say something, but nothing was coming out.

"What?" she yelled. "What, House? Say it!"

"I don't have the words to say what I need to say!"

"That's not good enough," she said, trying to be calmer.

"Fine!" he yelled. "You're my everything! You're the love of my life! I can't live without you! You make me better! You complete me!" He paused, catching his breath. "You reduce me to a desperate idiot babbling clichés because I am terrified of losing you." He stared at her and she saw the anger for what it was, what it had always been. He was just as afraid as she was. "I'll go get the fucking boombox and hold it over my head, Cuddy. Just don't…" He took a shaky breath, attempting to calm down. "You always accuse me of wanting out. Am I gonna bail, you always ask. And I don't. I won't. You left me, Cuddy, let me remind you."

"You relapsed."

"I didn't bail!" he yelled again. "Don't confuse the two."

She stared at him.

"Don't leave me just because you're scared I'm going to leave you," he told her. "I might be flawed and I might hurt you," he admitted, "But I'll always be with you… For better or worse, while we're on the clichés."

They stared at each other across the dark kitchen. He saw her shoulders relax. "I'm sorry," she said, putting a hand to her forehead and looking down, sheepish. "I'm sorry."

He limped up to her and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"Shut up," he said. "And stop talking to your sister." Cuddy laughed into his chest.

"How'd you know?"

"It's _always_ your goddamn sister."

They stood there hugging for few minutes. He kissed the top of her head. She squeezed his body in her arms. Then Cuddy felt the artist-formerly-known as-Little-Greg.

"House!" she tsked. "We're just hugging."

"I can't help it, Cuddy," he laughed. "That's what happens when you hug your sooooul mate." She smacked him. He bent to kiss her neck and murmured, "God your neck is my everything." She was laughing now as he gently pushed her up against the counter. He slid her shirt over her head and pulled back to stare admiringly at her breasts. "And these," he shook his head in awe, "These are my destiny."

"You can stop now," she groaned in exasperation.

"Oh, Cuddy. I'm just gettin' started." He slid her pants down her legs, trailing kisses along her thighs as he hoisted her to the counter. "I'd take a bullet for your legs," he informed her. He nuzzled her stomach."I love your belly, like, sooooo much," he emoted in a teenage fashion.

"Remind me never to have serious conversations with you," she complained, still smiling and leaning back as his hands slid up her thighs.

He reached under her and grabbed her butt hard. He looked deep in her eyes. "Your ass completes me, Cuddy."

She closed her eyes as he pulled her bra down and started kissing her breasts. "I hate my sister," Cuddy mumbled, forgetting all of it because his tongue against her nipple was sending electricity through her whole body.

"Join the club," he mumbled back. He slid her panties down her legs. He kicked his good leg out and dragged a kitchen chair toward them. He sat and parted Cuddy's legs, almost reverently. He pressed his lips to her heat and she stifled the most delicious moan. Her head fell back against the tile and the cold against her cheek with his hot mouth against her sex made her gasp. His hands pulled her hips closer to him. She lay sprawled across the counter as his tongue moved along her, around her, inside her. She moaned and then he moaned in response and she found herself teetering on the edge. She was scrambling for something to hold onto. One hand found his head and the other the edge of the sink. House's hands firmly on her hips drove her crazy as she twisted against the pressure of his tongue. This high-pitch noise she'd never heard was coming from her throat and her whole body stiffened as waves of pleasure suddenly shot through her. It was like a wire of vibration through her whole body. Everywhere. Her eyebrows had orgasms.

As she began her descent, House kissed up her body and pulled her down onto his lap. She leaned against him, still panting and discombobulated. She felt him open his pants. He put his hand in her hair and gently pulled her head back to look at her. She was still half-recovering – eyes still doing the occasional rollback, mouth still gasping a little – when he entered her. This stimulated her in a whole new way and her body was overwhelmed, still reeling from the first orgasm but suddenly charged to pursue the next. She took in a long shaky breath and met his glazed, piercing eyes. "Fuck me, Cuddy," he pleaded with her.

Her toes touched the floor and she used the leverage to move herself along him, a sigh-like moan escaping her lips with every push downward. Her nipples felt the fabric of his shirt as she rode him, leaning into his body and feeling his chest puff again and again as his breathing intensified. His hands rested lightly on her torso and he felt her silky skin glide beneath his fingertips as her body ground against his. Something about the haphazardness of it all – her bra yanked down mid-torso, his metal belt loop jingling as it hung over the side of the chair – made this so fucking hot. Their gazes were steady, right at each other, until she saw him lick his lips and grimace a little. She pulled his face to her chest then and felt his hot exhalations along her sternum as he came. She just rocked hard on him then, pushing her pelvis against his and climaxing again, digging her nails into his shoulders. His arms looped under hers and he pulled down on her shoulders, dying for the last few pulses of pleasure.

She slowed and slumped over him. He gave a satisfied little whimper against her chest. "I mean, if anyone thinks we're not mean to be…" he chuckled, out-of-breath, into the space between them.

"Fuck 'em," Cuddy agreed.


	8. Chapter 8

"So the elevator doors slide open," Cuddy told the table - about one year later - "And there he is." She hid behind her napkin, then dropped it and held her hand up dramatically. "He had the hugest tick I have ever seen."

The table gave an audible exclamation of disgust, surprise, and awe.

"You're a psycho!" Julia cried at him, laughing.

"She was a teenager!" a family friend exclaimed, holding his head and smiling in disbelief.

"Did you all hear the part about _finding the tick? _You're missing the point!" House yelled in defense, also laughing by now. "Cuddy's versions of these stories always fail to underscore the fact that _I was right!_"

"It seems that for House to save your life," Cuddy's mother proclaimed from the head of the table, "You have to actually be in the tunnel, walking toward the light." The laughter grew. They all loved a good Arlene-House sparring match.

"Well it's easier when God's crying, _Go back to the darkness, Arlene! Too many cooks in the kitchen!_" House bellowed through his hands.

"You all _need _my cooking," she declared. "If it wasn't for me, none of you would be together." She gestured at House and Cuddy. "If I'd meddled with you two earlier I might have a few more grandchildren."

"Yes, Mother, you are what brought us together," Cuddy rolled her eyes.

Arlene looked to House for support – they had this love-hate thing down pat. He raised his hands in surrender. "Don't look at me. I tried to knock her up when she was an undergrad, but she had to go all _Planned Parenthood _on me."

"That _is _her problem, isn't it?" Arlene said, getting serious. Cuddy glared at House for starting this and stood up to start clearing the table.

"Yes, Arlene. If it wasn't for Cuddy's success, she'd be far more successful."

"You should have talked some sense into her," Arlene teased.

"I tried!" he exclaimed. Then in a caveman voice, "Dean of Medicine, bad. House baby, good!"

"I'm just saying, the problem with these career girls is…" Arlene droned on as they all exchanged amused glances, indulging the matriarch. House was smirking at this nutty woman, with Greg to his left methodically dropping food from the high chair tray onto the floor below and Rachel walking around with his cane saying "I'm House. I'm House." to anyone who would listen.

Cuddy reentered and came up behind him, reaching over him to take his plate. "Are you done or do you want more?" she whispered in his ear, so as not to disturb her mother's pontificating.

And in that moment, he realized he did. Decades more.


End file.
